


Brothers in Arms

by mneiai



Series: Bastard Princes - fAegon & Jon Snow fics [4]
Category: A Song of Ice and Fire & Related Fandoms, A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Alternate Universe - Rhaegar Won, Dark Daenerys Targaryen, Jon Snow is Called Aemon, M/M, fAegon is a Blackfyre, fAegon is called Aegor
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-09-01
Updated: 2019-09-01
Packaged: 2020-10-04 23:44:34
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,610
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20479448
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mneiai/pseuds/mneiai
Summary: The challenge to the Targaryen succession doesn't come from the obvious source.





	Brothers in Arms

**Author's Note:**

> As readers of this series know but maybe someone just coming to this particular fic doesn't, there's a long-held and fairly strong theory that the character in the books called Young Griff, who claims to be Aegon VI Targaryen, is actually a Blackfyre imposter. This series (Bastard Princes) is about him and Jon Snow. Jon is a bastard because he most likely is or at least would be thought of as one and Aegon (fAegon) is from a bastard Targaryen line.

Aemon assumed this would be where he died. Betrayed, as his brother had been, as his grandfather had been.

Would this be the fate of all Targaryen kings? Would his little Daeron face the same? Would he even live to take the throne?

He barely dodged another blow from the mace one of his opponents swung, then had to duck under a sword swing from another. His sword arm was nearly numb from the impacts it had taken, Dark Sister far sturdier than his own body. 

Just when he thought, _This is it, one more blow and I'm dead_, a commotion came from the other side of the room and men he couldn't quite make out through his blood-blurred vision flooded in.

"Aemon!"

He might not have been able to see him, but he almost sobbed in relief at the familiar voice. Soon enough his opponents were dead or yielding and Aegor's arms were wrapped firmly around him.

"Gods, you look a mess."

Light glinted off of armor and Aemon squinted as the Golden Company began to clear out his rooms of bodies, searching them for identification or, presumably, things to loot. Not that he cared, the only thing he knew for sure was he wanted their heads on pikes above the keep.

"Aemon? Say something?"

Aegor's hand caressed his cheek, his face only inches away. It made Aemon think of other times, freer moments, before his brother had died without issue and Aemon was forced back to Westeros, chained to the ugly chair of his ancestors. Their ancestors.

"Aegor--how--"

"Your aunt isn't as subtle as she likes to think. One of my men heard she was gathering sellsword companies to sail on King's Landing."

Aemon huffed out a breathless laugh, grimacing at the pain it caused the wound across his torso. If he'd been ready, if he'd been in armor on the battlefield, he doubted men of that skill would have ever harmed him so badly.

Instead they'd waited until he'd been asleep in his bed, assassins more than warriors, and bad ones at that. 

"I suppose I should be thankful that she hates you still."

Aegor snorted. "You're the only red dragon who doesn't."

"That's not true, Daeron thinks you're grand." His son called Aegor "uncle," too young to understand why that made the people around them nervous. "When he's king, he won't banish you."

"If you think I'm letting you die before me, you're more a fool than I thought, Targaryen." 

Aegor called for a maester, then for help getting Aemon off the floor. Strong hands helped grip him and carry him to his bed, lying him carefully down.

Since the first time they'd met, years ago in Essos with Aemon posing as a Northern bastard, Jon Snow, and Aegor as just any Golden Company member, Aegor had always been taking care of him. He supposed he shouldn't be surprised he still was, even if it meant defending the throne that Aegor's parents had wanted for their son.

"I'm glad you're here," Aemon murmured, feelings vague from lightheadedness. "That I get to see you one last time."

"Jon...."

"I would have spent my life with you. If Aegon hadn't died. I would have--"

"I know," Aegor's voice was cracking at the edges and Aemon felt light kisses on his forehead. "I wanted that, too. All of my plans had you in them, with me, beside me. Until the end."

Around them were only men of the Golden Company, who didn't particularly care what their commander got up to, as long as they got paid. If it had been Westerosi, maybe Aemon would have still tried to hold back, even on his death bed. He was known for his restraint, after all.

He got his less injured arm up and gripped part of Aegor's armor, pulling him in for a kiss. It tasted of Aemon's own blood and desperation, and another salty tinge he realized slowly were Aegor's tears.

"Daeron, she'll try to--"

"From what we could tell, the Kingsguard fled with him, as you ordered. She had men go after him, but mine should catch up to those, first."

"If I die--"

"Jon."

"If I _die_, I have a writ, it's in the Tower of the Hand. It's--you're his Regent, Aegor." He heard exclamations around them at his words, remembered they had an audience again. 

Aegor let out a dry laugh. "You'd trust a Blackfyre that close to the throne?"

"I can't trust my own aunt, she's more Targaryen than anyone else."

Dragons didn't make might, not on their own, and Daenerys had been faced with that hard truth at least twice, now. When she'd challenged Aegon's rule, Aemon had ridden with his brother into battle--and one of Daenerys' dragons had swooned to him, knowing its rider immediately.

She'd fled, then, back to Essos to lick her wounds. Aegor, hearing of what Aemon had done, managed to hide away as just another sellsword and steal another dragon. With just one, Aunt Dany had hesitated to take on Aegon again...and so she'd simply sent assassins after his brother, until one was lucky enough to kill the king.

When Aemon died, he could only hope that Daeron bonded with his dragon. The kingdom would still need a rider. It was why he needed Aegor there, Aegor close to his son, just in case.

"I still wish you'd named him anything else," Aegor muttered, a welcome distraction from Aemon's dark memories. 

"You wanted me to name him Daemon."

"It's a good strong name, for a good king."

Aemon just managed to bite back the laugh that would have surely hurt. "You're incorrigible. Daeron's going to end up with a Daemon and an Aegor, isn't he?"

"You'll be there to talk him out of that."

Before he could discount that again, more commotion came from the door, and a maester was rushing to them. He was jostled and prodded, made to drink a few awful concoctions, but all the while Aegor was there. Helping the maester or holding his hand.

He was honestly surprised when the maester told him he would surely live as long as an infection did not set in. The blood loss was worrisome, apparently, but nothing rest and liquids couldn't fix.

Aegor kissed him again as soon as the maester departed, more passionately than before, and Aemon wondered what it might be like if he simply...didn't ever stop letting people see them kiss. He had an heir, a legitimate son, and everyone knew the alternative was the Mad Queen in the East. What would they do?

"You're thinking too much," Aegor muttered against his lips.

Smiling, Aemon kissed him again. "Maybe so, but I think you'll agree I'm thinking very good things."

"Like sending a Faceless Man after your aunt?"

"I can't be a kinslayer, not like she is."

Aegor scoffed. "I'm hardly close enough kin to her to worry about Westerosi superstition. Let me do it."

"Your grace?"

The both looked towards the door, where a knight awkwardly stared at them, cuddled together on the bed. "Yes, Ser Edric?"

"The-the Red Keep is secure and Gold Cloaks and Golden Company are making sweeps of the city. Your son has been returned. Would you...would you like him brought to you?"

"Yes, please. And send for a bath on your way." He sat up, ignoring Aegor's protests. "He's already terrified, Aegor, I'm not going to add to Daeron's fears by letting him see me in this state."

"You cannot submerge those stitches, you idiot."

Aemon grimaced, looking down at himself again. "Fine, help me wipe the blood off and put clothes on over them."

Seeing Daeron made him forget all of his pains and fears. Even when his son hugged him too-tightly. He passed him over to Aegor in relief once he could, Daeron fascinated by the shiny armor his "uncle" wore.

"What if I married you?" he asked Aegor that night, as he was helping Aemon prepare for sleep.

"Then everyone would know there's no such thing as a sane Targaryen."

"Prince Consort Aegor of House Blackfyre. It has a ring to it."

Aegor held onto Aemon as he hobbled to the bed. "They'll welcome it the next time someone tries to murder you in your sleep."

"And invite Daenerys to take the throne?"

"Aemon, it can't happen."

"Can't or you don't want it to?"

The quiet stretched on and Aemon felt his heart sinking. Years they'd had together, as comrades, as friends, but they'd always been more than that in their hearts. At least, he'd thought they'd been.

"I won't let you sacrifice your reputation for me," Aegor finally said, sitting down on the bed beside Aemon.

Aemon frowned up at him. "It's not a matter of what you'll let me do, Aegor. It's what we want."

"Things were so much easier when you were just some Northern bastard trying to make his name as a sellsword."

"Just because it's changed...that doesn't mean that we can't have what we want."

Aegor's eyes were wide and purple in the firelight. He looked so like and unlike Aegon at these moments that it could sometimes hurt to look at him, but Aemon didn't want to miss a single expression on his face.

"...Let me think about it."

It wasn't a no, but Aemon knew it was meant as one. It was a silly idea, regardless, he reminded himself, turning his head to stare up at the canopy of his bed.

"Thank you. For coming here, for rescuing me."

"You don't have to thank me, Jon, I'll always protect you. I promise."


End file.
